


Young God (Castiel/Reader)

by In_Wolfs_Clothing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Demons, F/M, Heaven, Hell, Hunting, Slow Burn, Supernatural - Freeform, tv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Wolfs_Clothing/pseuds/In_Wolfs_Clothing
Summary: "I know you want to go to Heaven, but you're human tonight." (Spoilers for Season 6 and Season 7 of Supernatural)





	1. Chapter I: Hotel Andrea

**// 6.20**

 

        Your hands gripped the porcelain that was beginning to collect droplets of blood that fell from a cut above your eye. Tears were running freely, pain coming in pulses. You knew stitches would be needed, but you liked the way the crimson trails dirtied your face. For once, you stared at the mirror with a reflection that was hideous. The right side of your face was stained with layers of blood, either crusty or fresh. The trails seemed to outline your brow bone, the dip in your cheeks, and your jawline - all things that had been kissed, or caressed. Red was gathering dangerously close to one of the eyes that so many had complimented. The fact that your bottom lip was split where they all had nibbled on it was just a cherry on the cake.

         _“Is this considered masochistic?”_ you wondered. _“- To love myself when I’m beaten up?”_ You figured, in some ways, it might have been. But pleasure was lacking as a stinging took over half of your head.

        Sighing, you flipped the latch of a first-aid kit and grasped a cotton ball before drowning it in alcohol. You closed your eyes, letting your fingers blindly make their way to the cut. You wished your pain tolerance was higher as a loud hiss left your mouth upon contact. Sticking through, you continued to dab at the cut, then quickly wet a complimentary wash cloth. Gently, you scrubbed away the varied shades of red, revealing the face hundreds of hands had grasped. As more of your natural complexion was revealed, you steadily regretted trying to clean yourself up. You would’ve much rather settled with the monstrous features you had previously. Maybe then, you could hide the person you really were.

        Frustrated at your thoughts, you threw the small towel into the sink, flushing it with water from the faucet. Heart racing, you tried to collect yourself - you couldn’t suture with shaking hands.

         _“How do I even stitch a wound? Is it the same as stitching a hole in fabric?”_ These doubts had you glancing at your phone, wondering if you should just dial 411 and ask where the nearest medical center was. _“But my car is jacked and back with those psychos. God, what if it’s not within walking distance?”_

        Staring at your bloodied hands in contemplation, you figured you might as well give 411 a shot, and stuck your palms under the running water. Once you thought they were clean enough, you briefly wiped them on the thighs of your jeans, turning to grab the phone you had left on the toilet seat. You froze at the sight of a man there instead, black suit standing out against the blinding white of the bathroom. In his raised hand, he held your phone, a smirk apparent on his lips.

        Two of your fingers lifted to the bridge of your nose, eyes clenching shut. He had to be a hallucination caused by the blood loss. You would’ve known if someone had strolled past you and sat on the toilet, or at least have seen it in the mirror. “Fucking christ,” you murmured under your breath before opening your eyes again. You started to feel lightheaded when you saw he was still sitting there, legs crossed, hands now folded in his lap.

        “Actually quite the opposite.”

        Your eyebrows unconsciously crept upwards, stretching the skin around your cut. As blood once again began to produce in large amounts, you stumbled backwards and out of the doorway. Ruled by fight-or-flight instincts, you sought the nearest exit, which happened to be only one door. Swiveling on your heel, you readied to run for that door, but it looked as if he had already beat you to it. Your head began to roll backward, sight going blurry before you caught yourself on a wall.

        “Going somewhere?” The man chuckled, and you had the slightest thought to throw your shoe at him. Maybe that would stun him enough to the point of where you could lock yourself back in the bathroom, hoping he had left your phone there. From that point, you could call 911 and wait until they took the intruder away.

        As you began to slide down the wall, making it seem like you were only cowering in fear, you had to stop half way. Your ears had begun to ring at a painful volume, and you cupped them as if to block the sound. It did little to help and you watched as impatience spread across the face of the man that stood at your front door. He continued to seem nonchalant as the lights flickered, TV turning on only to reveal static. You swore you could feel the room shaking, but maybe that was just in your head. Your feet slipped from beneath you and you landed on your behind, recovering quickly in order to tuck your head behind your knees and in your arms.

        Relief surrounded you as everything returned to normal. The ringing in your ears faded, and the ground seemingly stopped moving on its own. You dared let this console you enough to be able to lift your head. Instead of seeing an empty hotel room liked you had hoped, another man now took residence in front of you. He bent down slowly, tan trenchcoat pooling around his feet. He stared at you with deep blue eyes that squinted as if trying to read you. You watched as he lifted a hand, cautiously edging it towards your face. Eventually, his palm was cupped near your right eye, and realization dawned on you. You closed your eyes in obedience, assuming he was going to be just another man who used you. After so many, you were too tired to fight back.

        Yet, it seemed the pain that pulsed above your eye disappeared, and his hand retracted. Confused, your lids fluttered open again, and you watched as the man stood, turning to look back at the suited male. “I told you not to lay a hand on her, Crowley,” was what he said, voice gruff as if he hadn’t talked in weeks.

        The supposed Crowley stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, head tilting upwards as his brows strung together. “She was already hurt when I got here. Sorry, I can’t quite get a grasp on your empathetic feelings - must be something that’s included when you’re the King of Hell.” You would’ve raised an eyebrow at the heavy sarcasm if “King of Hell” hadn’t been included. Crowley seemed to notice your silence. “Don’t talk much, do you, sweetheart?” The other man took a step to the side as if to shield you from Crowley’s question, and you gladly took the chance to hide yourself behind the length of his coat. “Guess not,” you heard him mutter.

        “I’m taking her now. Thank you for locating her.”

        “Oh, so I get a vocalization of your gratitude? What a reward!”

        The blue-eyed man appeared unaffected by his companion’s jeers, and rolled on his heel to face you once again. He offered a hand and you shakily took it, finding it hard not to trust him. In an instant, you were in what looked to be a junkyard rather than a grungy hotel room. This hit you like a ton of bricks and you found your head swimming as you lurched over and threw up what had been left of your breakfast. All the while, the man stood next to you and watched, emotionless. After a few moments of dry-heaving and being coated in a cold sweat, his hand grasped your arm and led you away from the piles of rusting cars and tire rims. It was only a minute before you were making your way around the side of a blue house that’s paint was chipping horribly. The place looked like it was falling apart, and you couldn’t imagine what the inside was like. However, it seemed like you would soon know as the man gently urged you to climb the cracked porch steps. Hesitantly, you stepped around the spots that you were scared would cave under pressure until you stood at what you assumed was the front door. The man strode in front of you before pounding on the wood. You began to taste copper and clutched his sleeve suddenly. He looked over his shoulder at you, and although his face held no single expression, you knew he was wondering what you were doing.

        “Who _are_ you?” you asked quietly. He parted his lips as if to respond, but the sound of locks being slid out of place stopped him. His attention was once again directed at the door, but you refused to release your grasp on his coat.

        The door’s hinges screeched uncomfortably as it cracked open, a pair of eyes peeking out. The door opened wider as they landed on the male you were latched on to, but paused when they found you. A bearded face and worn ballcap stuck out in the dark, grey-blue eyes shadowed by the bill of their hat. “Who’s this?”

        You opened your mouth to answer, but the trench-coated man beat you to it. “(Y/N).” Your fingers unwove from his jacket, surprised that he knew your name. “She was attacked by a group of demons, and needed safety.” Your eyes shifted nervously. You _had_ been confronted by a group of men before fleeing to the hotel, but demons? It began to dawn on you how wrong everything was ever since that Crowley guy showed up.

        The bearded man’s brow lifted, incredulous. “She looks fine to me.”

        Your companion’s brows strung together, either from the story he was making up, or to show sincerity - you couldn’t quite tell. “I healed her before I transported us here.” The other man still seemed skeptical, and your partner in crime glanced back at you, grasping your bicep and pulling you closer. You tripped over your feet for a moment, and sneered at the side of his face when he wasn’t paying attention. “I fear she may have been possessed.”

        You inhaled sharply and began to to pry at the fingers he had wrapped around your arm, taking his words as the last straw of crazy that you could handle in one day. But, he had a steel grip and he didn’t even flinch when you tried ripping your shoulder away from him.

        “Then why’d you bring her here, ya idjit?” The door swung open the rest of the way, and the bearded man’s hands grasped your other, free arm. The two dragged you into the house as you flailed like a wild animal caught in a net.

        When the older man released you to drag a chair into the middle of what looked to be a messy study room, you fought with all your power against the one that still had a hold on you. Your punches seemed to be hurting you more than hurting him, and at this, you began sobbing, knees failing you. You fell to the ground as the man in the trench coat looked down on you. He pursed his lips for a moment before taking two fingers and placing them against your forehead.

        You only had a second to wonder what he was doing before you lost all consciousness.


	2. Chapter II: Cars, Clothes, Calories

**Chapter II: Cars, Clothes, Calories  
// 6.20**

 

        You woke with wrists and ankles that felt raw and a neck so cramped you were afraid to move. Eventually, you managed to lift your head, eyelids painfully separating from the crust of dried tears. As you came to, you realized your hands were bound on the arms of an old chair, and your ankles against the legs. You began to roll your head in order to stretch the muscles in your neck, only to find a large symbol that vaguely reminded you a pentagram painted onto the ceiling. You weren’t sure if it had always been there, or was just recently added.

        Looking around the rest of the room, you found yourself alone. In front of you, there were two open sliding doors that led to a grimy kitchen, both sides surrounded by other chairs and stacks of books. To your right was a shelf that surprisingly held even more books, along with a clutter of other things on a desk - ranging from shoes, to cups, to dead plants. Another large doorway seemed to lead to a hallway which encased a set of stairs and a white door. On your left was a couch that was relatively clean of any more literature, placed in front of four adjacent, tall windows. From what you could see over your shoulder, there was an old, vintage desk littered with papers, coffee mugs, bottles of alcohol, and… more books. A large, brick fireplace was built behind it, surrounded by - you guessed it - more bookcases.

        Straightening your neck, you sighed and tried to shift your wrists underneath the rope. It did little, only furthering the searing of your bound flesh. It made you feel claustrophobic, and adrenaline was making its way into your system. You were flirting with the idea of flailing until a part of the chair broke, but the sound of a door crying out had you waiting.

        Your eyes shifted, waiting for footsteps or more gruff voices. You were met with a few moments of silence, then a loud, abrupt bang. You flinched instinctively, listening to grunts and other telltale signs of struggle before the older man you had met previously rushed into the room from the hallway. He hurriedly lifted a pile of books from another chair and began to drag it toward you. At the sight of him approaching, you began to struggle against your binds again, but he seemed too busy with whatever he was currently doing to care.

        “Make room, sweetheart,” was what he muttered beneath his heaving pants as he dragged the other chair beneath the symbol on the ceiling. Even through your wrestling with the chair, he managed to turn you around and you were left facing the desk, the other seat pressed against your back. At once, an unfamiliar man stomped into the room, arms wrapped tightly around a second. The male they dragged in had his hands and feet taped, head hanging as a sign of unconsciousness. The older man helped the younger as they lifted him, then sat him down. You heard them cutting the tape, only to replace it with chains as they secured him in a similar fashion to your ropes.

        The trapped man seemed to finally come to, and the back of his head harshly knocked against yours. You hissed in pain, leaning away as far as you could. Collectively, the two people in the room that weren’t shackled down surveyed the two of you that were, then met eyes. The tallest of the group made a gesture with his head, and they both sauntered out of the room and out of hearing range.

        “What are you doing here?” the man behind you asked suddenly. You were about to reply, but he continued. “You don’t smell like a demon.”

        Exhaling in frustration, your eyes rolled and you began to fight the chair again. “I’m not.” You found yourself on the verge of tears as you found yourself still too weak to escape. “And what’s with all this demon crap? Are you a part of some cult?” Your voice grew higher at the end, the many made-up scenarios in your head scaring you more than the current situation.

        He scoffed. “They sure do a good job of pickin’ ‘em. Idiots.”

        He hadn’t denied the cult factor, and you cried quietly at the thought of being like one of the pretty sacrifices in all those horror movies. Your tears dried when the two other men returned. They seemingly ignored you, gathering around the male they had just pulled in.

        The oldest one spoke first, with an accent that reminded you too much of your redneck uncle that had been living in Colorado since before you were born. “I got to tell you, Redd… for a filthy, lower-than-snake-spit Hellspawn, you seem to have turned yourself into a damn fine hunter. I don't know whether to kill you or kiss you.” You didn’t know what to make of the unknown context behind “hunter.” In order to comfort yourself, you willed your thoughts into believing it just meant he predated animals.

        You were starting to shake uncontrollably out of fear, but “Redd” sounded as if he couldn’t be any less concerned. “Oh, _please_ , kill me.” You could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but even then, you wouldn’t have dared let those words slip from your own mouth. Your captors seemed completely capable of fulfilling that request. Yet, the two ignored his remark - you supposed it was because they wanted answers. So, what were they keeping you alive for?

        “That was you that dug out that nest of vamps back in Swan Valley, wasn't it?” the capped man spoke. Vamps? You assumed they were referring to vampires and your shoulders sunk. Your fear was replaced with sadness as it dawned on you how crazy these people were, how they probably wouldn’t let you go alive if they kept believing you were possessed.

        The taller male finally spoke, but briefly. “That was nice work.”

        Although the two didn’t sound particularly impressed, Redd acted proud of his work. “Eight of ‘em in one go, roped and tied.” The taste of bile was forming in the back of your throat, and you tried to swallow it down.

        “And then you brought them to Crowley, right?” the oldest had taken over questioning again. But wait - Crowley? Wasn’t that the suited man that had appeared in your hotel room? You tried not to make it obvious that you were now more interested in their conversation, rather than planning a way to escape.

        Redd laughed dryly, and you could feel his shoulders shaking your chairs. “Read the papers, redneck.” He paused to inhale. “The king is dead.” That was a lie, and you knew it, but refused to speak up when the bearded male joined in the chuckling.

        Quickly, he reached out and grasped a flask, then threw some of its contents onto Redd’s neck. You could hear his flesh burning and his pained, “Nng!” The sudden act of violence had you reeling away and you couldn’t help the yelp that left your lips, fearing the mystery liquid would also land on you.

        The taller male gave a look to his partner, then his strides slowly made their way around to you. He seemed to eye you up and down before he took a step forward, using his foot to push your chair back up against Redd’s. Another once over, and he was back to standing next to his older companion. Your shoulders had tensed once again, face growing sore as it twisted into an expression of pure fear.

        “Crowley’s alive,” he continued, and Redd’s head snapped up. It was as if he had had no idea, and you had trouble telling if he was acting or not. “You prove it just by being, you poor, dumb jackass.” Redd’s head began to sink again, maybe because he knew he had been caught in a lie. “Crowley’s alive. His nets are still out. Except now he's using you schmucks to hunt his monsters.” Your shoulders rose, then fell. If everything they were saying had the slightest chance of being true, why would the King of Hell want anything to do with other monsters?

        You could feel Redd’s hair brush lightly against yours as he raised his head again. There was a second of silence before he answered. “Up yours.” You weren’t surprised by his evasive response.

        More silence followed, and you began to grow nervous. Peeking over your shoulder, you had just enough time to see the taller male pull a serrated knife out of his belt. You turned back around and closed your eyes, wishing you hadn’t looked. Before you could think about fainting again, the sound of something being placed to the side and a new set of footsteps entered the room.

         _'There are three of them now?'_ was all you could manage to think. For a moment you considered the possibility of it being the guy in the trenchcoat, but you were too scared to find out for sure. Besides that, two pairs of boots seemed to make their way out of the room. You assumed the only people left now were you, Redd, and the older man.

        “Redd,” the eldest called, drawing your attention back to the situation at hand. “Where’s Crowley?” His voice was lower now, rumbling in his throat. Redd restrained himself from any more sarcasm, and you knew he was scared. “No? Nothin’?” You tried to steady your panicked breaths, nerves strung with anxiety. “Oh, okay then.” You let out a quiet sigh of relief, sure he was going to leave you both alone. But then, he spoke. “Here, hang on to this for a bit.”

        Your eyelids clenched, shoulders rising as you heard metal piercing flesh. Redd screamed in agony, and you began to sob in response. He continued to yell for a few minutes until you heard the footsteps returning.

        “Where’s Crowley?” the oldest asked once more.

        “Up yours,” Redd repeated through gritted teeth, then you heard more slicing. Redd cried out and his chair shook slightly before he quieted. He breathed heavily as you wept out of confusion and panic. “I don’t know where Crowley is!” You kept your eyes closed, but tears still managed to escape.

        “Are you sure about that? ‘Cause we can twist again all the way to next summer.”

        The knife began to move again, Redd responded with a yelp. “Oh god! I never even met him! I don’t deal with Crowley direct.” They were getting answers, you never thought you’d see the day. You had to wonder what they would try to force out of you, and how. The thought had you aching.

        “Well, who do you deal with?”

        “The dispatcher,” Redd replied. You could hear that he was crying, through his voice. You didn’t know whether or not to feel sorry for him. “A demon named Ellsworth.” At the mention of “demon,” you decided not.

        A chair creaked as someone stood up. “There you have it,” the country accent you became too familiar with announced. Your head felt heavy as you hunched over, exhausted by the varying emotions you had felt since waking up. You only had a moment to breathe before you heard the knife torn from flesh, and then stuck back in. Redd yelled louder than any time before, and you swore you heard electrical crackling before he went completely silent. You could no longer feel his back pressed against yours, and your head was left swimming.

        “Fall asleep over there, princess?”

        You felt numb and fatigued, your brain failing to create any words. You listened as they dragged Redd’s chair away, then you were jerked backwards. Your neck painfully cracked, spine smacking against the back of the chair. Your eyelids opened lazily, but you couldn’t quite make out anything with your blurred vision.

        “Now that you’ve seen what happens to incompetence, I suppose you might want to speak up.”

        Your mouth was parched, and you swallowed dryly in order to gain some control of your voice. “Is he…?” You started, but stopped. You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. “I’m not - …” For some reason, the word escaped you. What had they called Redd? The slight ringing in your ears distracted you from remembering.

        “Not what? Spit it out, kid.”

        “Not a…” Your head dipped, but someone caught you by the shoulders and straightened you. “Not a… a demon.” That was the word, you were sure of it now.

        “Bobby, did you ever test her?” A new voice spoke up, one you didn’t recognize. Even so, the ringing was growing louder. Maybe it was messing with your hearing.

        “Didn’t have the time to. She’s been out for two days, wouldn’t have been conscious enough to feel anything.”

        You were about to explain how you met Crowley, but the ringing spiked in volume and you shrieked at the pain it brought you. In the midst of it all, you swore you heard, “Don’t tell them,” before it quieted down again.

        Your vision slightly restored, you watched the three men in the room share a look before the oldest man stepped around you and grabbed the flask he had previously used on Redd. You flinched away from him as he walked back to his place in front of you, eyes locked on the container in his hands. What was in it? It had to be some type of acid if it had burned a man’s skin. You couldn’t help but shudder, lids drooping.

        All of the sudden, the liquid was splashed on to you and you jerked away at its cool temperature. As it soaked into your blouse, you waited for the pain. But a minute passed, and it never came. Unconsciously, you had closed your eyes, now you opened them again. A droplet of the fluid rolled down your nose, around a nostril, and onto your top lip. Instinctively, your tongue swiped out and your brows scrunched at the lack of flavor.

        You laughed abruptly - a very sad, broken laugh. “Is that water?”

        The new addition to the group rolled his head back, sighing heavily before shoving a hand in your direction. “Sam, untie her.”

        “But -” the tallest tried to protest, but was interrupted.

        “But nothing, she’s obviously not a demon.”

        “Dean, we might get to check ‘demon’ off the list, but what if she’s something else? You willin’ to risk that?” the oldest questioned.

        “Cas said she _might_ have been possessed. And she’s not, so we’re going to untie her, _Bobby_.” They were letting you go? You didn’t understand.

        Your bewilderment began to overwhelm you, and you found yourself crying as the tallest, “Sam”, pulled out a pocket knife and sawed at your ropes.

        “Look, now you’ve made her cry.”

        Looking up, you stared at the two standing men, who you assumed to be Dean and Bobby, through your tears. One slipped from your eye and rolled down your cheek as your bottom lip quivered. “Who the _hell_ are you people?”


End file.
